


A Bold Move

by fleurlb



Category: Derry Girls (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:42:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21522382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurlb/pseuds/fleurlb
Summary: Orla and Sister Michael crash through a societal norm that doesn't need to exist.
Comments: 46
Kudos: 332
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	A Bold Move

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Musyc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musyc/gifts).



The noise was faint, but continual. A soft whir and a hum, followed by some light clacking. It came to Sister Michael while she was staring into space, questioning her life choices. Something about the noise made her think about money being spent recklessly, each clack another bit of wasted energy and resources.

Annoyed, she got up from her desk and walked toward the noise. It was far too early in the morning for anyone else to be in the school. She followed the noise to the school newspaper room. The door was open, and she crept in silently. 

Orla stood at the paste-up desk, using a paper cutter to slice stacks of beige paper into strips while the photocopier rattled away, creating an ever larger pile of unauthorized copies. 

Sister Michael timed her question so that the blade of the paper cutter was in the fully down position. She didn't need the hassle of a student cutting off a finger this early in the morning, 

“Orla, can you explain what's going on here?” 

“Ah, Sister, I didn't see you there.”

“Of course you didn't. Judo has made me a nearly silent force. Now....explain.”

Orla picked up one of the strips and held it out, as though that would explain anything. Sister Michael looked at Orla, her face blank with a hint of disapproval. 

“Well, you see, Sister, Coyle's Hardware Store is running a giveaway contest and the grand prize is a bicycle. No purchase necessary, enter as often as you want. As much as I love doing my step aerobics, cross-training is the secret for getting to the next level. And my bike was stolen last July, so I need a new bicycle, but Mammy says that we'll see, maybe Christmas, which means no. This contest is my only chance.”

Sister Michael took the strip of paper from Orla's hand and noticed the Coyle's Hardware Store logo at the top, a stylized hammer and sprinkle of nails fashioning the C. The paper was heavy beige card stock. And scratchy handwriting filled the lines precisely, looking printed, not photocopied. 

“Orla, how did you make this?”

“I grabbed a wee handful of official entries from the store, filled them out, and then lined them up on the photocopier.”

“And this paper? If I'm not mistaken, this paper is from Jenny Joyce's Sisterhood Social Club's supplies. I believe she uses it for printing tea party invitations.”

Orla blushed and fidgeted. “Aye, Sister, 'tis, but she had loads. I figured she wouldn't miss one package.” 

“I cannot believe I am saying this, but I am impressed by your ingenuity. But it stops now. And you tell no one. We can't have every girl using the photocopier for her whims.”

“Thanks a million, Sister. I'll just finish up here real quick. I only have about 100 more copies to make.”

Sister Michael gave her a withering look and wordlessly kicked out the photocopier plug.

“Or I'll just make do and cut up the ones I've already printed. Thank you for the copies, Sister.”

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** 

**_Two weeks later_ **

“I know that your life is step aerobics, but it's a health and safety issue to have you high-stepping and jumping around like that in a crowded corridor.”

“You mean hop turning?” asked Orla, slightly out of breath. She wiped her forehead and leaned against the wall. 

“To save ourselves the agony of discussion, yes, Orla, let's say that I do mean hop turning. Do not do it in the corridor. Do I make myself clear?”

A loud squawking noise bounced through the now empty hallway. 

“What fresh hell is this?” muttered Sister Michael under her breath as she turned to see Jenny Joyce wheeling a shiny new bicycle up the hallway.

“I entered that drawing at Coyle's and I can't believe my luck! Mr. Coyle just dropped off the first prize to me, this fantastic bicycle. Of course, I haven't a need for it, and anyway, what would I do with a boy's bicycle? Quite a scandal that would be – a girl on a boy's bike.” Jenny chuckled. 

Sister Michael glanced at Orla in time to see a fleeting look of disappointment before the girl's features settled into their usual blankness. 

“Is there a point to this story? Or a reason that this bicycle is still in my corridor?” 

“Well, Sister, I was thinking that I would donate the bicycle to the parish youth club. The social picnic is next month, and traditionally, we always raffle away two bicycles.” Jenny paused, as though waiting for approval. 

“Be that as it may, Miss Joyce, I do not want to see this bicycle in my school after today. Understand?”

“Of course, Sister.” Jenny saluted and turned to wheel the bike away, tooting the horn one last time. 

“I also do not expect to hear that bicycle, ever again.”

Sister Michael turned back to Orla, surprised to feel a small bit of regret for the girl, after she'd worked so hard and ingeniously to try to win the bicycle. It must be crushing to see it go so easily and needlessly to a girl who wanted for nothing. 

Orla's head was up and her shoulders were square, as though she was resolved to fight on. “Did you hear that, Sister? I've got another chance to win that beauty of a bicycle!”

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** 

Sister Michael never understood why Father Gerry insisted on having the social picnic at this time of year, when the weather was perpetually chilly with a soft drizzle that was most unappealing for a picnic. Usually, she drifted in at the end of the afternoon to make an appearance, so she was not at all sure how she had allowed herself to be pressed into overseeing the church youth club and their blasted raffle. 

Two bikes sat up on the back of a trailer. The boy's bike was the one from Coyle's Hardware Store. It was sleek and black and looked like it could win races. The girl's bike was a monstrously pink High Nelly with a garish basket adorned with plastic flowers. The very sight of it stirred a nauseous anger in Sister Michael's stomach, so she tried not to look at it as she stood behind the signup tables, shifting her weight from foot to foot to avoid perishing in the cold.

“Step right up and enter our amazing raffle. Free entry, one per person. You've nothing to lose and one of these amazing bikes to gain!” Jenny Joyce's carnival barking act was wearing quite thin for Sister Michael, and she hadn't even been on duty for a quarter of an hour. It was going to be a very long day indeed. 

She set her mind adrift, picturing herself as the hero in _Under Siege_. She was just at the big finale when a disagreeable voice pierced her illusion.

“Sister, can you please tell Orla that she can't sign up for the boy's bike? Sister?”

“I'm sorry, I do not understand the problem.” Sister Michael looked over at the signup tables, where the English fella was alone next to the entry box for the boy's bike, while a crowd of familiar girls stood at the other table. Orla stood in the middle of the two tables, looking quite resolved. 

“The girl's bike is crap and won't work for cross-training. I want to try to win the boy's bicycle.”

“And I've been telling her that she can't. One entry per person,” insisted Jenny.

“But I don't want to enter both drawings. Just that one.”

“Don't be silly, Orla. You can't sign up for the boy's bicycle. That's ludicrous. The most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Girls on boys' bicycles.” Jenny made an annoying puffing sound and then laughed. 

“You let James sign up for the boy's bicycle. That was clearly ridiculous. If anyone should win a gay pink bike, it's him,” said Michelle. 

“Shut up. I'm not gay,” said James. 

“Orla should be able to sign up for whatever bicycle she wants,” said Erin. 

“Yeah,” chimed in Clare. “It's discrimination is what it is. Complete and absolute discrimination!”

“Settle down, everyone. Just settle down. Jenny, do you have any written rules or terms of the raffle?” asked Sister Michael.

Jenny shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “No, Sister, not as such. We have the sign – one entry per person – but that's the only rule in writing. However, the traditional operation of the raffle is quite clear and has been going on for years, so I think it's quite apparent, ipso facto, if you will -”

“I will not,” interrupted Sister Michael. “Orla can make her one entry and place it into the box of her choosing. If it's the boy's bicycle, then so be it.”

“Victory!” shouted Erin and Clare as Jenny Joyce fumed and blushed. Sister Michael felt it was nearly worth it for that one moment. 

Orla carefully wrote her information on the entry form, kissed it, and put it into the box for the boy's bicycle.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***  
After two hours of mentally working through a catalog of Jean Claude Van Damme movies, Sister Michael happily turned responsibility for the raffle over to Father Peter, a clueless young priest from Dublin. She made the rounds of the sad social picnic, avoiding parents as much as was practical, and spent some happy time in the Bingo tent, where she won a fiver and a coupon for the chipper. Not a bad day after all.

She was about to go back to the convent when a scratchy announcement over the ailing loudspeaker drew a crowd toward the bicycle raffle. She allowed herself to be carried along with the crowd until she found herself standing near some of her students at the edge of the trailer. 

Father Gerry shuffled through the crowd and had Father Peter help him up onto the back of the trailer. He took the microphone from Jenny Joyce.

“We'll do the drawing for the fairer sex's bicycle first,” announced Father Gerry.

“I do not want to hear that priest talking about sex at all at all,” hissed Michelle. “Although the young fella priest, I'm reserving judgement on that one. He seems a bit of a ride.”

“Hush, that's blasphemy,” scolded Clare. 

“And the winner is....” Father Gerry stuck his hand into the entry box, rooted around, and pulled out a slip of paper. Then he extended the moment by fumbling in his pockets, pulling out his reading glasses, and putting them on. Finally, he cleared his throat and made the big announcement.

“Bernadette Lynch!” 

A titter of excitement rippled through the crowd as Bernadette made her way up to the trailer. Father Peter jumped down and easily lifted the bicycle down to the ground.

“He can manhandle me anytime,” stage whispered Michelle. 

“Be quiet. They're going to announce the winner of the real bicycle next!” Orla crossed her fingers, squeezed her eyes shut, and bounced excitedly.

“And now for the winner of this fine boy's bicycle,” said Father Gerry as he stuck his hand into the other entry box and pulled out the winning entry. He unfolded the slip of paper, blinked, and then frowned. He double checked the entry box, which was blue and had “BOYS” written on it in big red letters.

“I'm sorry, we seem to have a problem. I don't understand how this could happen. Orla McCool? What is the meaning of this?”

Orla jumped up and down, and her friends joined her celebration. Jenny Joyce rolled her eyes and huffed and began explaining to the priest exactly what had happened.

“Everyone, please calm down a wee minute while we try to figure this debacle out,” said Father Gerry.

Orla looked over at Sister Michael, who motioned for the girl to step forward to the trailer. Orla gave her a slightly pleading look. Sister Michael sighed and reluctantly followed after her.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** 

Sister Michael stood at the back of the trailer while Jenny Joyce, Father Gerry, Father Peter, and a couple of lay-people who oversaw the youth group argued amongst themselves. To complicate matters, the parents of a group of boys who were angry about a girl winning the bicycle were surrounding the trailer and adding a chorus of angry whispers to the proceedings.

Finally, after twenty minutes of this nonsense, Sister Michael climbed up onto the trailer.

“Lads, we've got to catch ourselves on. The sign said 'one entry per person'. I was there and told Orla she could put her one entry into either box. There was no funny business. So you could say that if the lone girl in the boy's draw won, it was His will, could you not?”

“Sister, while I am all for girl power, there are standards and traditions that we simply must respect,” said Jenny.

“Plus, it's rather unfair on the boys,” added one of the lay-people, a sanctimonious git named Barry whom Sister Michael always tried to avoid. 

“One might say it's rather unfair of the girls to have a horrible High Nelly as the prize,” said a different lay-person, a woman named Sinead, whom Sister Michael had never rated but she was now open to changing her mind.

“It's time to draw a line under this and give the poor girl her bicycle,” said Sister Michael, eyes on Father Peter, whom she reckoned would be the most suggestible. 

“Now, let's not be hasty,” said Jenny as Barry started on a monologue about the poor boys.

Sister Michael jumped off the trailer and looked around. The time had come for action. 

“Orla,” she whispered. “You know that step aerobics move where you wave your arms up while alternating kicking your leg back?”

“The rocking horse?”

“Sure, let's say it's that one. I'm going to climb up and lift the bike down, but while I'm doing that, you need to clear a space, so start doing that rocking horse all around the back of the trailer here. You got it?”

“Sister Michael, I can do that of course. But I don't really understand your plan.”

“It's not a plan so much as an action, but fortune favors the bold. With any luck, this crazy scheme will end with you cycling away. You in?”

Orla grinned and nodded. Then she turned, steadied herself and launched into her stepping. Sister Michael climbed back up onto the trailer and edged over toward Father Peter, who was guarding the bicycle.

“Let's get this to its rightful owner, shall we?” 

Father Peter looked like he might argue, but she used her meanest Judo face, and he unhanded the bicycle straight away. Sister Michael picked the bicycle up like it was a Judo opponent and spun, lifted the bicycle and then jumped down with it, easy as a takedown. 

“Now, Orla, now!” she shouted as the girl step-kicked her way over, jumped on the bicycle, and cycled away, while her friends shouted and ran interference for her. 

Father Gerry stood at the edge of the trailer and glared down at her, but Sister Michael merely shrugged and ambled off into the sunset.


End file.
